


Episode tag to 3x13

by CommanderBunnBunn



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: 3x13, Episode Tag, Gen, Gummi bears of independence, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Platonic Bathing, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBunnBunn/pseuds/CommanderBunnBunn
Summary: for the September MacGyver Whump challenge. Episode tag to 3x13, immediately after fade to black/credits. Jack hovers, Mac is adorably surly.It's the one about the Gummi Bears of Independence
Comments: 60
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowing_river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowing_river/gifts).



As soon as Matty gets the phone call, Jack knows something is wrong. Matty has a poker face that could fool the most astute interpreters of body language, but her frazzled state from saying goodbye to a very important part of her life has her already shaken and unable to hide her worry. 

"What happened?" Jack asks, afraid to hear the answer after so many blows already that day. 

She doesn’t want to tell him. She takes a deep breath and holds it before breaking the news to Jack. “Mac’s been shot. I’m sending Medevac to his location. I don’t have any other information, now let me handle this before you ask any questions."

Jack doesn’t intend to ask any questions; he smashes the gas pedal with his foot, it’s all he can do to not freak out. The only thing in his control at that moment is the vehicle, so he uses it. Focusing on the rev of the engine and the RPMs ramping up up up, he blocks out the words coming from Matty's end of the phone. If he listens he may feel compelled to “help” and Matty doesn’t need help. She’s got this. 

He feels sick. He thought it was a terrible idea to send his kids into survival training without him. He’s taught that skill for nearly a decade, and it’s not that his kids aren’t competent or couldn’t do it without him, they've clearly succeeded, but it was something he wanted to share with them. It’s not that he didn’t trust their abilities, not at all, but in their world, if something could go wrong, it did go wrong in every way possible and then in a few ways that would probably be pretty impossible. Jack wants to be the one to take the brunt of the blow for them. Guard dog, human shield, punching bag, he fills all of the roles any time he could if it meant someone else didn’t have to.

Jack knows how far they are from the private airport where the Phoenix jet awaits, He knows he can cut the drive time down by a third. Just focus on the road and the destination. 

****

The ETA for the helicopter is twenty minutes, it’s faster than ground transport, but it still takes time to start the bird and get it in the air. The ETA for the ambulance is ten minutes. Matty has them both enroute to get help to Mac as quickly as possible. In the meantime, Fred has a trauma kit, a gift from Jack on one of their many excursions there. 

Mac is in and out of consciousness, shivering on their homemade litter they dragged into the the small cabin. Riley tucks a fleece blanket tighter around Mac and runs her fingers gently through his hair as she’d seen Jack do many times before. As he moans with an exhale and turns toward her, she scoots closer to give him the contact he seeks. He nuzzles her thigh and melts back into unconsciousness. 

“Come on, Mac, talk to me,” she pleads, brushing his hair more vigorously, using her nails to massage his scalp in an attempt to rouse him. 

Bozer sits on his knees, hovering over Mac’s leg as blood continues to ooze through the pressure bandage and blanket. Taking the scissors from the trauma kit, he delicately cuts through the fabric of Mac’s pants below the wound, careful not to disturb the bandage. 

Fred delivers a warm washcloth and a bowl of water to Bozer. He tries to clean around the wound as gently as possible to gauge the flow of the blood without getting too close to it. Mac squirms under Bozer’s ministrations and Riley continues to try soothe him with reassuring words of comfort. A phone rings, and Fred knows it’s not for him. He answers on speaker and places the phone on the ground between Riley and Bozer. 

Matty keeps them in the loop, “Someone should be there within twenty minutes, ten at the least.”

Bozer cringes at the blood flowing freely where he’d just wiped it clean. “Matty, he’s still bleeding; he can’t wait ten minutes much less twenty. He’s lost too much blood already.” He doesn’t wait for permission or reassurance, he recognizes the layout and contents of the first aid kit that bears Jack’s signature preparedness. 

With confidence in his skills, Bozer gets to work dissociating from the situation to keep his emotions in check. This is exactly why they spent so much time training. 

Bozer threads the velcro of the CAT through the loop and pulls it tight, checking to make sure it’s three fingers width above the wound. He ratchets the plastic handle, making the tourniquet tighter and tighter. 

Mac’s eyes snap open and he wails. It’s loud enough for Jack to hear over the phone and breaks his heart in ways he didn’t know were possible. As much as he hated seeing his boy in pain, it was actually worse to hear it and not be there to do anything about it. 

Before he knows it, the phone is in Jack’s hand, “Mac,” his voice booms over the speaker of the phone on the floor. In an instant, Bozer and Riley feel a small flash of relief, as if Jack were there himself to shoulder some of the emotional burden.

“What kind of trouble you get into now?” Jack asks, hoping for any kind of response from his best friend. Mac pants heavily, breathing through the pain while trying to reorient himself to being awake. He looks around, eyes darting around the room wildly to locate his partner. 

Riley cards her fingers through his hair with a firm stroke, unintentionally emulating Jack’s touch. 

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you, Mac.” Jack hides his fear with a shaky laugh, “You know you’re not supposed to do anything stupid without me.”

Mac laughs, it’s kind of a stuttering cough more than a laugh, but Jack knows it’s for him. “Sorry,” is all he manages to croak out before gritting his teeth and breathing harshly through the pain as Bozer turns the tension rod once more and fastens the velcro strap over it. Bozer checks his watch and uncaps a Sharpie with a trembling hand to record the time on it the tourniquet.

Mac's arm reaches blindly, swinging at whatever offending presence is hurting his leg. Riley distracts Mac by putting the phone in his hand. His thumb streaks blood across the screen as he presses the button to take it off speaker. His hand unsteadily holds it to his ear, to allow him the smallest amount of privacy. “Sorry.” Mac repeats, with slightly more clarity.

“Ain’t nothin to be sorry for, just don’t let it happen again.” Jack orders playfully. “You know my old heart can’t handle worrying about you like that. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a month. No, three months!” 

“Sorry,” Mac’s voice is actually apologetic, he believes he did something wrong. Jack has to change his approach.

“None of that, hoss. I don’t even know what happened out there. You get in a fight with a cougar? Grizzly bear? Oh! A honey badger? Those things are brutal.” He just wants to keep Mac listening and talking.

Mac half smiles and starts, “You remember that dream you told me about where you found D.B. Cooper’s money?” 

“Yeah.” Jack laughs, surprised Mac remembers some of the asinine things Jack rambles about just to break the silence, “And then I shot by Yosemite Sam and died.”

“Yeah,” Mac agrees sounding breathless again.

“Did you at least get to do the thing with the anvil in the tree? I think my physics in that dream were pretty sound. The fulcrum and the lever and the whatnot.” Jack waits for Mac to answer, but he doesn’t. 

Jack hides his panic with a nervous laugh, “hey man, you’re supposed to call me out on my cartoon physics.” he waits another moment, “Mac?”

“No. No anvil.” The phone clatters to the ground next to his ear and his arm flops out to the side. 

“Mac? Mac!” Jack tries to not sound panicked and tosses the phone into the center console of the SUV in frustration. There’s nothing at all he can do to help in the situation. Jack doesn’t do helpless.

With the blunt nosed shears, Bozer snips the bandage they applied in the woods; the release of tension causes it to slap the ground with a grotesque sound. Riley palms Mac’s cheek firmly to attempt to rouse him and screams at Bozer, “you’re not supposed to take it off no matter what!”

He responds in an equally exasperated tone, “it’s not doing any good anymore, it’s still bleeding a lot. I’m gonna pack it now, and I’ve already tightened the tourniquet above it.” He rips the package of QuikClot open and wads part of the gauze before pressing it firmly into the wound, using his own weight to apply maximum pressure. Mac squirms but doesn’t wake.

Riley turns her attention back to Mac, tapping his cheek. "Come on!" She's on the verge of tears. Bozer can't have her fall apart or he'll be right behind her.

"Riley," Bozer snaps more aggressively than he intends, "I need you to pull out that roll of elastic tape there and wrap it around this as soon as I let up. Ok?"

She brushes her hand over the top of Mac's hair one more time as if to tell him she'll be right back. Lingering too long on the dark circles that have formed under his eyes she notices the gray pallor to his cheeks and has to look away to keep from losing it. 

Bozer holds it longer and presses harder to compensate for his waning strength. It's been several minutes but feels like an eternity before he finally gives Riley the go ahead to wrap it. "I'm gonna let go on the count of 3 and you get it wrapped. I'll lift his knee so you can go under there. Ok, ready?"

She wraps it tight enough where you can see the elastic squeezing. They watch the spot over the wound with mounting trepidation, praying silently that it has finally stopped bleeding. Bozer sits back on his heels with an exhale of relief when the bandage remains clean. His relief is short lived as he questions his tourniquet, maybe he didn’t need it after all. He's starting to think he did it in the wrong order. His mind spirals. Now he's certain he didn't do it in the right order. Maybe Mac will lose his leg as a result of Bozer’s decision. Maybe the Phoenix can make a Tony Stark level prosthetic an Mac can be bionic Mac. Mac and Jack would never forgive him for screwing up. He was trained better than this. 

Jack’s voice interrupts his downward spiral into panic, the phone is still on and Jack and Matty are yelling...having an emotionally charged loud conversation. Bozer grabs the phone and scurries out of the cabin, needing to put distance between himself and the situation to keep his emotions in check. Riley’s got this.

“Jack!” Bozer attempts to draw his attention back to the phone. He hears some movement and noise as Jack picks the phone back up and pleads for a good sitrep. 

Voice panicked and fast, Bozer begins to ramble his doubts to his friend, “I think I screwed up. I think I shouldn’t have done a tourniquet. It probably wasn’t necessary. It’s only 20 minutes.” 

“Boze, hey stop.” He gives the other man a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts, “I know you know what you’re doing. There’s no reason to doubt yourself.”

“But it’s not bleeding now, and maybe…” 

Jack cuts him off again, thankful that he can hear the sounds of nature over the phone, Bozer’s stepped outside away from the situation and can probably be calmed down with some reassurances. “Stop.” Jack’s voice is fatherly and commanding; he hears Bozer inhale and hold it. “Life over limb. Was it still bleeding heavily before you put it on?” Bozer’s timid affirmation. “And it’s not bleeding now?” Another weak sound confirms that, “Then you did good. You don’t know when help is gonna get to you or how long it’s gonna take to get to a hospital, you absolutely did what was necessary to save our boy.” 

More than anything, Jack wants to ask how Mac is doing. At this point, no news is good news, and a panicked team of young agents questioning their skills and realizing that the situation is not great won’t make anything better. He has to reassure them more, “Matty made sure to let both transports know Mac’s blood type to ensure they have some on hand. They’ll top him off and everything will be just fine, Bozer. Y’all did great. You saved him. I’m gonna meet you at whatever hospital y’all end up going to, ok? Now go take care of him.” 

“Okay,” Bozer closes his eyes and concentrates on steady calming breaths as he disconnects the call and stands at the front door to the cabin. He steels his nerves before opening the door to check on his best friends. Mac has not regained consciousness, but stirs occasionally with painful stimuli. 

Riley rubs her knuckles firmly across his sternum, maybe if she can lure him awake to talk about his assailants or Newton's First Law, he can stay awake until help arrives.. She just wants to see his eyes open, The piercing blue that melts hearts, but at the same time can judge you sternly with a perfectly executed eyeroll.

She pulls him into her lap, careful not to jostle anything below his waist, pressing his ear into her chest and brushing his hair back from his forehead. Where's that damn helicopter?

***

Luckily, the Phoenix jet’s ready to load and go upon their arrival at the small Nebraska airport. Jack is dropped off in Washington and Matty continues back to LA. 

Mac had been picked up and rushed out to the nearest hospital as soon as the ambulance arrived. Riley and Bozer were stuck talking to the police about what they’d seen, but at least they gave them a lift to the hospital first before taking statements. 

The kids had been incommunicado for the nearly three hours it took Jack and Matty to get back out west. They don’t have Fred's phone anymore, so they can’t just call Jack with updates, and he understands that, but it doesn’t ease his worry at all. If things went south, they’d use a hospital phone to call him. Jack had threatened on many occasions to tattoo his phone number on their bodies if they were too reliant upon the convenience of cell phone contacts to memorize important phone numbers. He’d brag about how he still remembers his childhood best friend’s landline phone number and the phone number you called to get the time and current temperature. 

Jack ducks and runs from the jet to the awaiting helicopter when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s too loud inside the bird to hear the phone, but he tries anyway pressing the phone firmly to his cheek and a finger into his other ear to block out some of the excessive noise. It’s Riley, her voice sounds nervous, but not alarmed. He can only make out every few words, but he hears “stabilized” and “surgery.” 

Speaking as loudly as he can without revealing his unease or fear, he tells her, “I’ll be there in ten minutes, sweetheart.” Jack disconnects and puts on the headset before he gives the pilot a thumbs up to lift off. For some reason, Jack is more worried than before. He thought that being away from Mac and unable to help was the worst feeling, but now he’s sure that running in blind to a situation he knows little to nothing about with Mac is much worse. All he knows is Mac is hurt and he wasn’t there to fix it; he wasn’t there to shoulder the burden.

Jack’s phone buzzes again as they approach the hospital’s roof to land. It’s a text from Riley from a nurse’s phone. She gives him the most concise rundown possible of where, when, and what to expect. He hops down from the chopper, probably before it was actually safe to do so and runs through the door on the roof. He doesn’t bother with an elevator, he takes the stairs two and three at a time, bounding down several flights as quickly as he ever had. 

He busts through door after door with no regard for the signs advising against it. Not sure who those are supposed to be a deterrent for because they’re definitely not meant for Jack when Mac needs him. Jack smashes the square metal button repeatedly with the side of his fist hoping it’ll open faster, it’s the last barrier between him and where he needs to be. He runs the last few steps and sees Mac through the window of the surgery suite. 

He looks cold. A thin sheet covers from his waist down, but his chest is bare except for the cardiac leads. Riley's text said they got enough blood into him and he was now stable enough to remove the bullet. It was stopped by the bone and needed to come out now. Mac cranes his neck upward to try to get a look at the anesthetist who’s just out of his sight moving things around and making noise. 

Jack smacks his palms against the window glass as he screeches to a halt. Mac’s still lucid, he’s refused the stronger drugs so far. _Of course he has,_ Jack thinks to himself and smiles. 

The new noise draws Mac’s attention and he turns his head, it’s Jack! He wonders if it’s from the blood loss or if he just got dosed with something, but he can’t help but smile at the sight of Jack, hallucination or not. Jack smiles and bites his bottom lip with tears in his eyes, his boy is ok. You can tell him a thousand times that everything will be ok, but until his eyes confirm it, he can’t internalize it, especially when it comes to his kids. A wave of relief washes over Jack and he feels like he can breathe again.

Mac feels the sting come through the IV as the anesthetist pushes medicine in a syringe into the port. He blinks slowly a few times before his smile slackens and he falls asleep. Jack hears the doors behind him open and several sets of footsteps coming to physically remove him. He doesn’t care; he got the visual confirmation that he needs, and Mac knows he’s there. That’s all that matters. Jack turns his back to the glass and slides down the wall to his knees and sobs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Mac gets patched up and they head home

Mac finds Jack’s hovering annoying on a good day, but the way he dotes on him and anticipates his every need is infuriating. Mac’s not the type to want attention, much less accept help from others even when he needs it. The disembarking process from the jet at their return home from Washington is stunningly embarrassing for Mac. His leg is in a brace, hip to ankle, and Jack won’t let him hop one-legged down the stairs, especially so soon after surgery. 

Jack’s on the phone, yelling, but he insists it’s _stern and enthusiastic persuasion_. Mac is preemptively embarrassed by what is going down; he’s already blushing. 

“Well next time we might as well fly commercial for all the good this is doing for us now.” he hears Jack despite the fact that they're on opposite ends of the plane. Mac’s blush deepens. This is all for him and he can't stand it. No one else is around to hear it, but he's still embarrassed. He pops in his earbuds and prays for the percoset to hurry up and do its thing so he can forget this nightmare; that’s too much to ask, but at least he won't care anymore. His motivation for agreeing to take the strong pills was to raise his tolerance for Jack's hovering and dampening his tendency to become uptight about the attention. 

The drugs start to kick in as they begin their descent over Los Angeles; Mac's relieved because Jack's "persuading" got them a gangway from the jet's door to someone's private hangar so they can get off the plane using the wheelchair instead of walking. He wishes he had a hat, or a gigantic hoodie, or even a babushka at this point. Thank goodness it's a tiny airport and not likely to have a lot of traffic. 

Jack pushes Mac through the gangway which is a lot longer than expected, or at least it seems that way because every joint of every segment of the bridge has a bump that sends pain through Mac's thigh. Jack slows his momentum as soon as he hears Mac's first yelp of pain. 

The back and forth of the ramp inside the hangar to get them back to ground level is no better, and they go backwards so Jack doesn't inadvertently dump his best friend out of the chair on the steep incline, made ideally for wheeling luggage, not humans. They arrive at the exit and Jack steps out first, dropping the duffle bag slung across his chest to prop the door open. Mac is just done with the attention and the hovering and sulks in his wheelchair with his cumbersome brace sticking straight out and significantly altering their turning radius. He’s happy the drugs are finally at their peak, otherwise he’d be even more surly. 

The limo pulls up to the exit of the hangar as Jack picks his duffel up and waits next to Mac whose forehead is balanced on his palm trying to be invisible. Bozer hops out the back door and greets them excitedly, “Roommie! I’m so glad you’re home now.” Expecting an embarrassing display of a fist bump or an attempt at an awkward bent over hug, Mac ignores Bozer. But in an unexpected turn of events, he goes straight for Jack and gives a big hug and forceful back pats. His voice gets softer, more gentle when he approaches Mac, “hey, Mac. You doing ok?” 

Mac huffs, realizing how this is going to go “yes. I’m fine.” Yet another person treating him like he’s a helpless delicate newborn woodland creature. Mac’s delayed eyeroll that no one sees is a testament to the fog the drugs cause him and the main reason he generally opts not to take them. Gripping the wheels and pushing off from the other two with his chair, Mac heads toward the elongated towncar. Jack trots quickly behind and grabs the handles on the back to push when Mac snaps back, “I got it, Jack!” Jack’s hands go up in surrender and the other two watch the chair roll toward their car. 

“Thanks for making sure we got a big car,” Jack tells Bozer as he hooks his arm across his friend’s shoulders and pulls him in close. “I don’t want Mac climbing into one of those SUVs, and a smaller car won’t have the leg room he needs.” 

“Oh yea, I know. We’ve danced this dance before when Mac was little. This is all too familiar now.” Bozer explains as they watch Mac sulk at the door to the car with no good way to get the door open from his vantage point. 

Wilt opens the door as Jack ducks down to tuck himself under Mac’s shoulder to act as a crutch. He allows Mac to fold himself in the car, ass first and scoot his way in through the long u-shaped limo seating, keeping his leg propped up as he nestles into the corner. The door shuts and the other two utilize the door on the other side, near the driver, to get in after stowing the chair in the trunk. 

“Wow, you got the party bus!” Jack was excited. “They haven’t used this one in a while. I wonder if they still have the old drinks in the fridge.”

Bozer, having already checked before they arrived, let him know they didn’t. “Just water and ginger ale this time around. But they did put fresh ice in the ice bucket.”

Jack coos, “How thoughtful. Remind me to tip the driver.”

The tinted partition separating the front from the back rolls down and Riley turns around from the driver’s seat, “I’ll hold you to that, Jack.”

“Hey sweetheart.” Jack’s eyes light up and she smiles back. “Let’s roll. I think Captain Crankypants back here is ready for a nap.”

Mac throws his head back in annoyed disgust and twists his torso as far as he can away from the others to let them know he doesn’t appreciate the infantilization or the teasing. Within minutes he’s asleep and covered with a stiff fleece blanket for the remainder of the ride. 

*****

At the house, Mac stirs groggily as they pull into the driveway and park. Jack weighs his options: leave the car on and let him sleep, try to carry him inside ensuring he wakes and gets angry that Jack even tried, or wake him. 

Mac wakes on his own and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand in an adorable display. Jack gives him a moment to clear his head before he asks, “how you wanna do this?” 

Mac swallows and licks his lips, contemplating before answering, “crutches.”

Jack questions, “You sure you good for that? You’re probably trippin balls right now.” 

“Jack, it’s just percoset.”

“Yeah, but for you, that’s some heavy shit since you never take more than ibuprofen.”

Mac shrugs and insists that he’s fine, planting his good foot on the floorboard and scooting toward the door. Jack disappears out his door and miraculously appears shortly after at Mac’s door with a set of crutches. Good leg out the door and broken leg hovering awkwardly, Jack hands each crutch over, one at a time, and Mac tucks them into his armpits and leans out to hoist himself up. Jack’s hand goes into the limo to hover over Mac’s head to make sure he clears the doorway without bumping his noggin. 

Package extracted, Mac takes a deep breath and prepares to hobble up the sidewalk on his own. He can’t tell that Jack is inches behind him, ready to catch him if he falls, because his head is still fuzzy. It’s a slow process, but he does it. Eventually he makes it to his bed and tucks the crutches into the corner. He looks at the bed that seems to be a mile away and steadies himself on the wall to prepare for the drunken one leg hop to the bed.

Jack rushes into the bedroom after dropping the bags near the kitchen, “hold up, hoss.” Mac is startled and almost loses his balance when Jack swoops in to help steady him. “Lemme help you get to the bed before you hurt yourself.” Mac agrees with reluctant acceptance and lets Jack support him. “And you gotta stay ahead of the pain.” Jack glances at his watch and pulls a prescription bottle out of his pants pocket. “it’s time for another one.” 

Breathless from the exertion, Mac sits up against the headboard, his leg throbbing in time with his pulse. Mac dry swallows the pain pill, but Jack hands him a bottle of water anyway. He debates the merits of going to bed this early, without dinner, and fully dressed versus doing the opposite. Of course sleep wins. He doesn't even turn down the comforter, opting to scoot himself to flat and turn the other side of the duvet to cover himself, a blanket taco of resignation. 

"Noooooo." Jack counters as he flips the blanket back over. "We have to change the dressing, take your meds, and eat some food so the antibiotics don't make you ralph. I won't ask you to wash up and change, that can wait. Those were the conditions of your early release, otherwise you'd still be laid up in a hospital bed in Washington with people in and out constantly checking up on you. You're getting off easy."

"Easy?" Mac balls his fists. "A cracked femur and a bullet hole is easy?" 

"Now you know that's not what I meant at all." Jack presses a palm to the top of Mac's head, tempted to ruffle the greasy mess of a mop, but abstaining. "You're here in your own bed. No IV. No monitors. No nasty drain coming out of your wound to empty. I fought hard to get you home where you'd be comfortable."

"Right. YOU fought hard, Jack. As if I'm not capable…"

Jack cuts him off, "this has nothing to do with competence. Would you rather have stayed there?"

"No, but…" Mac cuts him off and Jack gives back a wide eyed sassy glare of anticipation, waiting for the next rebuttal. Mac sighs and takes his frustration addled voice down a notch "but I'm an adult and don't need you to do things for me. I can do them myself."

Jack sits on the edge of the bed, "but if I can make anything easier for you, I'm gonna do that. I will fight your fights as much as I can when you're outta commission. That's my job."

Mac replies sheepishly, "No it's not."

"There's not a lot of things in this world I can argue with you about and be right, but this time, I know I am."

"But I feel like you are extra…"

Jack holds his finger in the air to stop Mac, "you think I wouldn't do this for Bozer? For Riley?"

Mac nods slowly with an accepting lopsided smile, "OK, I guess you have a point. You are an equal opportunity helicopter parent."

"And don't you forget it." Jack takes this opportunity to ruffle that shaggy hair he's been so tempted to mess with, "but first, we still have to change that dressing, get a snack, take some pills, maybe change your clothes. Dude, you're pretty gamey."

Mac looks ashamed, resisting the urge to sniff his armpits to confirm, "I didn't realize it was that bad."

"Well I said you could skip the shower for now, so that's saying something. It could be much worse. I'll grab some baby wipes for ya in case you wanna take one of those old sandbox showers like we used to. A new pair of pants and a clean shirt will do wonders for that hospital slash airplane slash dirty kid playing outside stank you're currently wearing."

Blushing, Mac reluctantly agrees to hop in the shower just so he won't have to bother with it later. Jack excuses himself for a minute to get everything ready for this endeavor. 

*****

As a kid, Mac enjoyed sitting in this tub and playing, loosening all the grime from playing outside, Harry taking him for hikes and tree climbing. It was the perfect way to wrap up a fun summer adventure when he was eight years old. Now his tub is only utilized when the shower is not an option or for aching body soaks in a scalding hot salt bath. 

The faucet had long been removed from the tub and replaced by a handheld shower head with a long hose, perfect for washing a dog...or a partner with a broken collarbone and fresh stitches across his back. 

Jack returns with fresh towels and clothes, a gigantic garbage bag, and duct tape. He places them at the foot of the bed and bends over Mac, his arm flexed like a hook for Mac to grab onto. Once they're both upright, Mac pulls his shirt off before Jack hands him one crutch for balance. “Let’s get those pants off and wrap you up.”

“Jack, this brace comes off. I don’t have to wrap anything.”

“Well with you halfway to Cheech and Chong land, we ain’t taking that brace off and turning that crack in your leg into a full break. Besides, that leg is like the only clean part of your body right now. So shuck those mangled sweatpants and we’ll get you showered.”

Mac opts to try to take down his stretchy pants with both hands while balancing on the crutch and fails. As he goes to lean the crutch against the bed and try again, Jack stops him before he loses his balance and regrets it. “I got it.” Jack quietly acknowledges, not wanting Mac to be embarrassed or ashamed. It wasn’t something new to them. They’d had many years of awkward reluctant clothing and bandage changes. They weren’t embarrassed about it, but neither man likes to admit he needs help. 

Stretching the waistband as far as it goes, Jack is very careful to be gentle with the injured leg and not bump or jostle it at all. He waits for Mac to lift his good foot out of the pants before sliding the entire pair loose under the leg Mac has hovering out to the side just slightly off the ground. When he stands back up, he tucks himself under Mac’s arm that doesn’t have a crutch and the begin their slow trek into the bathroom.

After he situates the shower seat in the tub and inverts a bucket at the far end to prop up Mac’s leg, they do the weird dance of getting Mac into the tub. Jack ducks down, supporting most of Mac’s weight with his shoulders so he doesn’t land on the seat with a splat. He lifts his good leg into the tub, trying not to be self conscious about being buck naked with his junk on full display. He knows Jack doesn’t care, but Mac's always been very shy about nudity. 

Mac engages his muscles to lift the braced leg with a sharp inhale and a yelp. Jack is immediately squatting and motioning that he’s going to lift by the heel to help Mac the rest of the way into the tub. The leg is wrapped, taped, and propped up on soft towels on top of the repurposed bucket. 

Jack points the water stream toward the drain as it warms up, sticking his wrist into it every once in a while to check the progress. Mac is cold; Jack wills the water to warm up faster because he feels bad for the kid. He notices the kid's eyebrows scrunch together, a much different look than the sullen sadness he had seconds ago, like he's working on solving a puzzle.

"You ok there, brother? Something bothering ya?" Jack asks.

Mac frowns, still a little altered from the drugs, "I have to pee." 

"That's an easy fix, hoss. Just aim it toward the ground. The water will wash it away." 

"Ew." Mac's face shows offense, making him look more like a grossed out kid than damn-near 30 year old man. Jack snickers. "Plus," Mac continues, "I can't do it while you're watching."

Jack sighs, "ok, I'll go stand on the other side of that door. Holler when you need me."

"I'll be ok, Jack. I can take a shower by myself. You've got me set up well. Thank you."

Jack hands Mac the shower head and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. It's not long before he hears a crash and an expletive. He busts through the door to save his partner and finds the fallen shower head outside the tub spraying all over the bathroom. 

His hair is half suds as he leans as far as he can given his positioning, but it's out of reach. Jack bravely jumps into the line of fire and retrieves the sprayer. As he takes it back, Mac holds it with one hand while continuing to lather up his hair. 

"Let me help you. Please. It'll be faster, and I know how your tree huggin ass gets about wasting water." Jack gives Mac a moment to decide who's washing and who's rinsing when Mac pulls his hand from his hair and rinses it of, ashamed he was defeated by a task whose simplicity he takes for granted. 

Jack pumps more shampoo into his palm and puts it to Mac's hair. He feels Mac tense up immediately and relax as Jack's fingertips firmly knead the soap into his hair. Justifying the extra long lathering with the fact that it hasn't been washed in a week, Jack doesn't want to stop. The kid looks content and comfortable for the first time in a while. 

Disregarding their wordless agreement on job assignments, Jack takes the shower head and eases Mac's head back with the other hand to rinse the suds away without getting any in his eyes. Thankfully, Mac doesn't protest. Jack's eyes scan the bottles on the rim of the tub for conditioner, which he applies liberally before rinsing it out with another scalp massage for good measure. 

Mac looks so relaxed, head tipped back, eyes closed, that Jack keeps the hot water spraying into his hair long after it’s rinsed. As it streams down his back, Mac lets out a content sigh. With his unoccupied hand, Jack squirts some body wash onto a loofah, squeezing it to make bubbles before rubbing it in small gentle circles on Mac’s back.

The kid doesn’t react at all, which Jack takes as a good sign and an ok to keep helping. Jack’s delicate balancing of keeping the shower stream in place with one hand while scrubbing a stinky 30 year old was not something he learned in sniper school, but it took as much concentration and delicate care.

The loofah moved in small counter clockwise motions down his back and back up, brushing across the front of his exposed neck and shoulders. Jack notices several spots of leftover adhesive residue on Mac’s chest, forearm, and his good leg. The fact that Mac wasn’t crawling out of his skin trying to remove it over the last few hours spoke volumes about his misery. Poor guy. 

Scrubbing the tape spots a little more vigor to try to loosen the glue that’s blackened from collecting lint from Mac’s clothes, Jack decides it’s a good time for Mac to take over the washing so Jack can take care of the glue. 

“Here you go, bud,” Jack speaks softly, but Mac still startles out of a daze. He adds more soap to the loofah before placing it in Mac’s hand. “You get all your other bits and pieces cleaned, and I’m gonna go grab some cotton balls and alcohol to get all this old medical tape gunk off you. Ok?”

Mac’s nearly unnoticeable nod of acknowledgement is enough; Jack hands the shower head over and dries his hands on a hanging towel to search under the cabinets for supplies. Jack grins at the updated layout under the cabinet, apparently Bozer had taken to organizing some of Mac’s supplies. The cotton balls were in a cute glass jar with a metal lid, wedged between similar jars of round cotton discs and cotton swabs, like in a physician’s office. The usual bottle of alcohol replaced by a can of saline, but Jack knows he can still find a bottle in there somewhere.

Opting for the structural stability of the soft cotton discs, Jack gives Mac another moment to finish scrubbing his privates with a courteous loud shutting of the cabinet door. There’s no universe in which Mac would be comfortable with someone else watching him wash his own genitals, and despite Jack’s nonchalance about his own nudity, he respects Mac’s need for basic privacy.

Mac continues to wash his good leg and foot, and Jack splashes alcohol onto a cotton disc. He rubs it in a circular motion over the tape residue under his clavicle, silently as to not draw attention to his actions so Mac doesn’t get squirrelly. With a little more alcohol, he gets all of the tape gunk off Mac’s torso fairly quickly so Mac can take the soap to his own chest again.

Jack takes the shower head to give his friend the use of both hands back for a moment before he scrubs away the excessive tape from the IV all over Mac’s arm. He can tell Mac had at some point been picking at that because the skin is reddened and irritated. Another swipe with the loofah after the glue is gone, and they're almost finished. Jack tackles the stripes of tape on Mac’s inner thigh that held a catheter in place that first day. At this point, Mac’s so tired, he just wants to get finished and get to bed. 

“Alright, man.” Jack stands up and grabs from the top of the stack of towels. “I think you’re good now. You good?”

“Yeah,” Mac answers wearily but makes no effort to get out of the tub and Jack is thankful.

The stack of towels Jack brought in gets dismantled. Jack places the smallest towel on top of Mac’s hair and ruffles it through to pull out some of the water. He leaves the towel draped across Mac’s head and wraps another around his shoulders, patting down a few spots on his back and arms. With a third towel, Jack goes to dry off the droplets on the plastic bag wrapped around Mac’s brace, but decides against it. Mac is given the towel to dry off his own legs. 

“You go ahead and peel that tape off, I don’t wanna hurt you more than you’re already busted.” When Mac doesn’t move to take the towel from Jack, he continues, “unless you want me to.”

“I got it.” Mac towels off his good leg, then wraps the towel around his waist, securing it with a tuck. He pulls at the tape while Jack moves to the other end of the tub to take the plastic off and help Mac ease to standing. 

With Jack as a crutch, they hobble back into the bedroom to deposit Mac into his bed. The hair towel falls, followed by the one draped across his back, and the waist towel is barely hanging by a thread from the hop across the room. 

Jack helps Mac pull on his underwear and a pair of Jack's favorite extra loose pajama pants. He turns down the comforter and leaves to scrounge for a snack for Mac. Unfortunately all that's left is a bag of croutons, a questionable apple, and some opened potato chips that are not properly closed. 

Luckily, Jack found a box of Cap'n Crunch that would have to do for now since Jack wanted to get food into Mac without having to wait for it to cook so the poor guy could finally get some rest in his own bed. Maybe Mac's not up for a full meal so he snags a single serve carton of shelf stable milk so Mac can have a choice. 

Opting for the cereal with milk, Jack fluffs several pillows behind Mac's back so he can eat comfortably. Mac makes a face at Jack, and the hint is taken, don't hover and let the boy eat. 

By the time Jack returns, Mac's only eaten half and given up, but that's better than nothing. He gives Mac his meds and tucks him in. Mac rolls his eyes, as expected, and Jack beams, he knows he must be doing something right. Jack brushes the hair off Mac's forehead and almost plants a kiss in his hair but knows it's ill advised; he's just so happy that Mac is home and safe. 

"Night, hoss. Just text me if you need anything. I'll be one room away."

"Thanks, Jack. I'll be all right."

When Jack goes back to check less than half an hour later, Mac is fast asleep.

*******next afternoon*******

Mac’s lack of independence frustrates him. Jack’s gone to the grocery store, Bozer is at work, and Mac desperately wants the gummi bears in the cabinet. Of course Jack would get him gummi bears if he asked, but that’s not the point. He wants the bears that allow him that brief bout of independence, the bears that he bought at a specialty candy shop where they make them in house and look like teddy bears, the bears with the perfect amount of corn starch to keep them from sticking together without being gritty. He really wants those bears.

Mac raises up on his good leg and grabs the crutches that are leaned against the side of the couch. He glides expertly across the room to the cabinet where the bears are stored. They’re so special that they came in their own special glass canister with a sealing gasket and a latch. Leaning one crutch against the refrigerator, he balances with the other while stretching as far as he can to reach the canister. It’s just out of reach. He presses up on his tiptoes of the good leg, reaching just a little further, thankful for the crutch that assists his balance.

His fingers reach the glass, but barely, he manages to slide it out from the shelf just a little, if he can get it a little further out, he can probably get a grip on it. He extends his fingers as far as he can and makes contact with the bottom of the jar and slides it out another centimeter. Mac’s so close he can taste it, the gummi bears of independence. He could wait for Jack to get home, but they’ll taste better if he can get them himself. The taste of satisfaction at not being helpless will taste even better than the candy.

Another big stretch and he makes contact with the bottom again, this time giving it a stronger pull, ready to catch it when the balance tips it out of the cabinet. He misjudges the trajectory of the jar, he’s not sure how that even happened, but he tries to catch it. Mac catches it in his palm and it teeters. The jar falls from his palm and he tries to overcorrect to catch it and loses his balance as well. 

The jar crashes to the ground and shatters as Mac falls. He twists to try to right himself and wrenches his leg in the process, screaming in pain he is unable to stop his descent. His arm lands on pieces of glass and doesn’t break his fall at all. Mac’s skull bounces off the ground knocking him out. 

Jack bops through the door, excited about his grocery run. He is going to grill some steaks and get some much needed iron into Mac. He looks toward the chair to tell Mac about the dinner plans, but he’s not there. “I told him not to go to the bathroom until I got back,” Jack grumbles and looks toward the hall bathroom. It’s empty. Maybe he wanted to use his own crapper for a change, Jack thinks and goes to set the bag of groceries down on the counter before going to disturb Mac in the bathroom.

He walks towards the kitchen and drags the paper bags onto the countertop when he sees Mac on the ground. Jack slides across the floor on his knees, “Mac!” He’s not sure what to assess first, there’s blood on his arm, blood seeping through the bandage on his leg, there’s glass and gummi bears everywhere. He holds Mac’s face between his palms, “Fuck, what are you doing, boy? Couldn’tcha have just waited for me?” He taps Mac’s cheek, “Hey!” he yells in an unintentionally loud voice. 

Thankfully, Mac’s eyes flutter immediately, bright blue looking right past Jack until he manages to focus a moment later. Jack strokes Mac’s cheekbone with his thumb and asks gently, “hey, hey, what happened?” 

Mac groans, he doesn’t have an answer he’s willing to give at the moment, but the context clues give him away. Jack yanks a dish towel hanging from a drawer knob and wraps the gash on Mac’s forearm holding pressure on it to staunch the bleeding. “This one might need stitches.” Jack winces in sympathy with Mac as he squeezes it. “Here, hold this,” Jack guides Mac’s free hand to hold the towel and Jack scoots across the floor a couple of feet to get a look at Mac’s incision.

“Oh, hoss.” Jack pouts as he pulls the bandage up, “you popped your stitches.”

Moaning on a sharp inhale, Mac asks, “can you stitch it up?”

“Uh uhh,” Jack shakes his head, “I’m not messing with this. You’re going back to medical.”

Mac growls in frustration at his luck. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jack slides his phone out of his pocket while gingerly pulling up the tape on the dressing on Mac’s wound with a sympathetic cringe. “Oh no, kid, this ain’t good.” He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear to have both hands available as it rings. “I don’t wanna put too much pressure on this, thankfully it’s a fairly slow bleed.”

A woman picks up as Jack folds a stack of napkins and presses them lightly to the wound, “it’s Jack. We’ve got a slight problem.” He speaks sweetly, buttering her up and talking about Mac like he isn’t even there. “Mac’s had a spill, popped a few stitches, knocked himself out. We’re gonna need it checked out.” There’s a long quiet pause before she speaks again.

Mac tries to understand what the voice over the phone is saying, but he’s not fully present and it’s not very loud through the ringing in his ears. Jack deliberately left it off speaker; it would have been easier to lay the phone on the floor and talk on speaker. 

Jack spouts a lot of “okay” and “I see” before he wraps up the call, “ok that makes sense, sounds good. Thank you.”

Mac starts to sit up, but is stopped by Jack’s palm gently resting on his chest. “Sorry, man, you’re staying horizontal until the ambulance gets here.”

“Ambulance?” his voice pitches higher in a frustrated whine as he lifts his head off the ground to protest. “Why?”

“Because you have a broken femur already and fell down. Getting you to medical in a car could cause more damage. They said that if we mess it up more, you may need some hardware screwed in there to hold it together. We both know you don’t want that.” 

Mac lets his head relax with a defeated sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as his hair fans out on the ground. 

“I’m sorry, Mac.” Jack strokes Mac’s hair and brushes it back into place to look orderly, kinda like Steve’s partner Danny’s blonde pompadour. “Are you in a lot of pain, is there anything I can do?” Jack asks as he leans across Mac to fish a first aid kit out of a lower cabinet. 

To keep from leaving Mac’s side, Jack slathers his hands in hand sanitizer and slides vinyl gloves on once they’re dry. He gently takes Mac’s injured arm and unwraps the gash. The bleeding’s nearly stopped, and Jack feels guilty for what he has to do. Reaching up to the countertop, Jack waves his hand around until he locates his reading glasses. He slides them down his nose and examines the cut, checking for any lingering glass shards. 

With the saline can, he flushes the wound, leaving Mac panting through clenched teeth. “Sorry sorry sorry,” Jack apologizes repeatedly under his breath. After pattng the outside dry, he pulls it closed with butterfly strips before wrapping Mac’s forearm with a roll of gauze. 

“That’s one less thing to deal with at medical.” 

Luckily, the ambulance is actually a private medical transport from Phoenix, totally discrete, but also sanctioned as emergency transport when needed. Mac's embarrassment lessens just a little bit knowing a white bus with flashing lights wasn't going to dawdle in his driveway for all the lookeyloos to see. Two guys from the TAC team wheel the gurney into the kitchen, unsure how Dalton was able to keep his boy on the ground until they arrived.

"Watch out for the glass," Jack warns them just as they hear the crunch of glass underfoot. It's not a warning as much as it is a courtesy, the shards stand no chance against their boots. At best, a piece wedged in the treads would make an unpleasant screech sound on hard surfaces, only to he yanked out by tweezers and discarded. 

Jack realizes that he should have cleared a length of floor parallel to Mac so they would have a clean spot for the backboard. Oops. It's clearly no big deal as they place it on the ground and maneuver Mac onto it without jarring a muscle. He tries not to be tense, but Mac's embarrassment is apparent in this rigidity and reddened cheeks.

Lifting the backboard effortlessly, they have their patient secured on the gurney and ready to load in a matter of minutes. 

As they start to roll, Jack walks alongside with his arm on Mac's bicep. 

"I'm ok, Jack. You don't have to ride along. I'm ok. Just pick me up when they're done."

"There's no arguing, I'm going." Before Mac can state his rebuttal, Jack continues, "me leaving you alone is what got you in this mess in the first place, I'm not leaving your side. Consider me your new shadow."

"Jaaaack." He whines as they reach the front door.

Jack flashes a stern look of not backing down. 

"I know I can't stop you, but I need you to stay and clean up the glass and blood in the floor. I don't need Bozer walking in the house to that."

"Ok." Jack concedes without another word and runs his fingers through Mac's hair as they cross the threshold and wheel him into the awaiting truck.

Jack shuts the door and presses his back to it, sighing and letting out the breath he was unintentionally holding. He shakes his head sags, mentally berating himself for leaving Mac alone. It wasn’t even for that long! Vowing to only do grocery delivery until Mac is out of the brace, Jack runs through all of the scenarios, no matter how ridiculous, of what _could have_ happened while he was gone. 

_He falls and breaks his arm and further breaks that leg requiring more surgery and some new hardware that will prevent Mac from going through metal detectors without a full body search._

_The jar falls and hits Mac on the head, causing a TBI and a coma._

_Someone breaks in to kidnap Mac, and he’s a sitting duck and can’t escape._

With a bottle of bleach and some paper towels, Jack gets on his hands and knees to make quick work of the mess so he can join Mac. There’s more blood than he thought and makes a mental note to take a fresh change of clothes with him just in case Mac gets checked over and released quickly. 

Unfortunately, with their luck, it’s never the easy way or the fastest way. Jack only hopes that whatever happens it’s the most painless and quickest way possible for Mac to get better. This was so difficult for both of them, and Jack knowing that his nemesis he thought was dead has resurfaced, he feels even worse. 

When Jack arrives at Medical, he's stopped by the doctor before getting to Mac's room. His first instinct is panic, _something's gone wrong, does he need surgery again?_ But he plays it as cool as he can. "How's my boy?" He asks Dr. McClain.

The doctor's face scrunches and Jack is sure he's about to be hit with bad news. "Well, the leg is fine. A few stitches in his arm, new stitches in the leg, and the break wasn't further aggravated." Jack feels momentarily relieved until the doctor continues, "but he's very dehydrated."

Jack's face melts into a mask of despair knowing he's responsible for keeping Mac fed and hydrated and properly cared for. He's almost afraid to ask, "when can I take him home?"

"Once the saline bag is empty, you can go, but make sure he's drinking. I know how stubborn he can be."

"You're not wrong," Jack sighs. "He just doesn't want to accept help. Instead of asking for help getting up to go pee, I guess he's just not drinking so he won't have to." Rubbing his palm back and forth over the top of his head in thought, Jack laments, "I just don't get it though, we've seen each other at our absolute worst, no shame, no embarrassment. He had to rub lotion on my frostbitten ass! We've pissed in Gatorade bottles in front of each other! Why is he being such a…" he doesn't even have a fitting word.

McClain places a hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezes before walking away, "I'm sure you can work it out."

Jack sighs and walks toward the open door down the hall where he knows Mac is waiting for him. Mac eagerly explains to someone else in the room the long game strategy of Rock, Paper, Scissors and how to predict your opponent. “Psychologically, people see rock as the most powerful and paper as the least, so rock is chosen more frequently than the other two. But statistically, it’s actually pretty evenly divided among the three.”

A deep female voice cuts off his lecture with a count, “One, two, three, shoot.” Jack hears fists smack palms with the count and a laugh afterward. 

“And then,” Mac continues, “when you lose like you just did with scissors, you’re more likely to choose the stronger one.” 

She breaks in again, “One, two, three, shoot!.” She grunts at her loss, “But I didn’t, I chose scissors again, assuming you’d think I was going to pick rock so you’d pick paper.”

Mac triumphantly explains, “And I knew you’d think I was going to choose paper because you thought I thought you were going to choose rock, so I chose rock knowing you’d pick scissors again.”

Jack waits against the wall outside of the room, amused. Mac was clearly drugged and being taken advantage of by one of the nurses for her own pleasure. 

Continuing without taking a breath, Mac rambles, “And since I won this one, that means that statistically I’ll continue to go through the cycle until I lose. So paper is next for me, plus there’s no way you’d choose scissors a third time so I clearly can’t choose rock.” 

Jack peeks inside the door to add, “but the iocane powder is in both goblets, and my money’s on the Dread Pirate Audrey building up an immunity to it.” 

“Hey, Jackass.” the nurse nods toward their new visitor and Mac’s face lights up. 

“Audrey,” Jack greets her with a passive nod, “thought you went down to Georgia, looking for a soul to steal.” He smirks back at her and then directs his attention to Mac. “Looks like you got lucky, hoss."

Mac smiles and nods, a welcome change from the angry honey badger stuck in a bear trap he'd been dealing with since they got back to LA. Jack holds up a small duffel, "I brought you a clean shirt, that is unless you wanna wear the gown home. It's flattering though, showing a lot of chest. Goes nice with the bandage wrapped around your forearm." 

"Thanks." Mac blushes as Jack brings the bag to him. 

Audrey disconnects Mac from the IV setup and bandages it quickly, excusing herself. "Allright, Thing 1, Thing 2, I'll go grab your wheelchair so you can get out of here and I won't have to look at you anymore."

Jack turns to Mac and suggests, "lemme help you…" as he unzips the bag.

"Jack," his look is stern, "I can dress myself. Can I have a little privacy? For once."

"If you say so, but I'll be just outside this door if you need me." Jack offers and follows the nurse out the door and closes it behind him.

He stops her, "so he agreed to drugs?"

"Yeah," she draws her eyebrows together, "and it was easy. He looked like he'd just had enough and was tired of being in pain. You know it's hard to ignore that awkward feeling of pulling and lacing up your flesh, even with a local. It shouldn't leave a scar though, you know I'm the best."

"Whatever evil sorcery you use does seem to leave the least permanent damage." 

“I’ll take your hate smattered compliment and tuck it in my pocket to cherish forever, my dear inbred hillbilly friend.” She smirks with genuine affection in her eyes before heading down the corridor. “I can’t believe you’re letting your sentient ass pimple put on his pants alone in his current state.” She calls out as an afterthought.

Jack’s eyes got wide, “You took his pants? Dammit!” Jack races back into the room as Mac tries to lean forward to hook his pant leg over his outstretched foot.

“Lemme help you with that, brother.”

“Jack, I can put on my own pants.”

“After what just happened, I’m not ok with this independent streak. You have to let me help. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Your hovering is going to get worse, isn’t it?” Mac groans.

“You bet your lily white ass it is! You better get used to seeing ol’ Jack 24/7.”

Mac visibly deflates and makes a disgruntled noise, “it’s just a broken leg.”

“Just a broken leg? You obviously didn’t read that shitty book, _A Separate Peace_ , in high school. That asshole fell out of a tree and died from a broken leg.”

“That’s not exactly what happened," Mac corrects, "did you even read the book?”

“No, I watched the movie because the book was really boring, but still…”

“Jack,” he rolls his eyes, “I’ll be more careful, I’ll accept more help, but if I need you to back off, I need you to back off.”

“You promise? No more gummi bears of independence and hobbling around the room without me there?”

Mac sighs, “yes. I promise.” He manages to get the waistband of his sweatpants around his foot and up his extended leg and grins with delight. 

Jack will let him have that one because Mac’s so pleased with himself. He bends the good leg and uses it to lift his butt off the foam mattress to slide his pants the rest of the way up. Mac is very satisfied with his self sufficiency as Jack stands by silently rooting him on. 

He pours more water into the styrofoam cup on the tray next to Mac’s bed. “Now drink up, you’re dehydrated, and there’s really no excuse for that. Are you trying to make me look bad?”

Mac frowns, distressed, so Jack has to backpedal, “no, I didn’t mean that. Don’t give me that kicked puppy look.” Mac’s frown cracks as he tries to suppress a smile. Jack can’t help but be amused by Mac’s drugged attempt at a ruse. He did have Jack fooled for a minute. 

Jack likes this Mac, he likes all versions of Mac, but he doesn’t get to see laid back silly Mac that frequently. It was a refreshing change from surly and irritable Mac of late. He doesn’t blame the kid, he’s in pain and miserable, and Jack is grateful he actually accepted the medication he would normally have refused. 

“Oh, I brought your clothes, but forgot your crutches.” Jack laments. 

“That’s ok,” Mac smiles, “they won’t let me walk out of here anyway. Your bestie is bringing a chair. Five bucks says she tries to mow you over with it.”

“Deal, and I’ll throw in a bag of gummi bears if you’re right.”

“Wait, that’s now how this kind of wager works.” 

Jack shrugs, “Can’t I just give my boy some gummi bears? Obviously they were very important to you.” He ruffles Mac’s hair, “plus, once the drugs wear off, you could use a pick me up. I’ll grab some on the way home, and anything else you think of you might need. Like maybe a bottle of Gatorade? Drain the bottle to hydrate, then drain your lizard in the bottle so you don’t have to hobble to the bathroom.”

“Oh god.” Mac blushes as Audrey enters the room mid sentence. 

She shoots him a sly grin, “Don’t worry, little squirt, I’m a professional. Nothing I haven’t been privy to before.”

Mac’s blush deepens and Jack hops in to take attention away from him, “Professional? I didn’t know that ‘vampire’ was classified as a profession. Do they have a licensing board and everything?” She feigns offense and threatens to ram Jack with the wheelchair with nothing but a devious look.

Audrey lowers the bed to make it easier for Mac to reach the ground with his good leg so he can turn and settle into the chair as Jack steadies it. She locks in the elevating leg rest while supporting his brace with the other hand. Once Mac’s all settled in, he and Jack are ready to head home, The knots in Jack’s stomach finally release until he remembers that he’s got to eventually break that news to Mac that he would be leaving on an open ended mission to hunt down Kovacs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for letting me know what y'all thought. I was very nervous writing in a way I hadn't tried before. I appreciate the hell out of you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's my first episode tag ever-Written in a different tense than I'm used to, utilizing no humor at all. Damn, i'm totally out of my element, so I hope it worked. I was completely out of my comfort zone the entire time. If it didn't work, I'm sorry.


End file.
